Magical Origins
by Sevenfox
Summary: It was no surprise the Fae lived in England, He was one of them, after all. Oneshot-Drabble thing


**To be honest, I don't know what I'm doing with this. It was an idea that popped into my head and wouldn't leave until I at least attempted to write it out. It plays with the idea that England is a Fairy, but can't use it to his advantage because no one else believes.**

**Constructive criticism would be nice, I guess?**

When he was first 'born' the forest around the babe had rejoiced, not because it was their nation, the very earth that the plants and animals lived on, but because he was something_ more_. The whole woodlands had danced with life and, to those who listened closely enough and believed enough, music – not unlike the tinkering of bells – could be heard weaving throughout the branches of the countryside. He spent 50 years in the forest, learning the ways of its inhabitants. When the child –Albion, The Earth had whispered - grew to the physical age of 4, he met those of his kind and with them he found a family. His siblings, his dear, dear siblings who he could play with and introduce to the invisible beings that no others could see.

He was quickly named a Fae child by his humans and his brothers, the humans saw his pale hair and thin face lit with emerald green eyes, and likened it to magical things. While his brothers heard the song like laughter and saw the gorgeous wings spread across his back, and likened it to the tiny people playing in his hair.

Those were possibly the best years of his life, flying with his friends and brothers.

_They didn't know they sung together in a language no human could speak._

Until, in 55BC, Rome came, and Albion became Britannia. His brothers – once fun and happy- changed seemingly in an instant, becoming cruel and unkind. The then 150 year old nation with the body of a 6 year old was left alone, pelted with harsh words and rocks. He didn't understand why, but his people became roman and his oldest brother, Caledonia, hid behind a wall that still stands to this day. He had tried to fight the Romans off – but his queen and daughters died and his land fell.

Rome promised him greatness: culture, literature, paintings and even more. He received it, but at the price of his family. For years, Britannia became a part of the Roman Empire, within it, he met many other nations – but none of them laughed at his friend's jokes or stunts and gave him weird looks when he spoke to them. So he ignored them and acted like the island he was.

He ended up hating his time as 'Roman', he was a joke to the empire. The little Island who laughed at the air. (Although he did have to thank them, Rome had taught him how to spread his wings and fight).

_If they could see, they'd realise he could dance with the fireflies, and that the air was not empty._

Finally, When Britannia was released from Roman reign, he could fly high again. England became whole and strong, tribes of once warring men coming together to form towns and cities and hamlets under the Once and Future King – King Arthur. During that period, Britannia grew and prospered. Knights and Swords clashed but his people were one and it felt _glorious_.

He became Merlin at some point, a guide to the king and a famous wizard who wielded the ancient magics like another hand. Kings passed and that particular legacy continued on.

_They weren't to know he was the Ancient Magic, the very land they ruled and lived on._

Centuries passed_, _and England never forgot his friends, he danced with them at Yule. Mourned for them at Samhain and danced with them in the spring and at the solstices. He found a friend/Brother/Enemy in France and his country prospered- Monarchies rose and fell, but he was happy and content and _craved more_

So England, wings spread, Took to the seas.

_If they could see, they would know he wasn't an angel, but a fairy._

It started off small, like everything did, but eventually he surpassed them all. France, Spain, _Rome_. He became the British Empire, he who colonised a third of the world and, along with that title came another; Big Brother.

America, His pride and joy, his little boy. So big and so strong – how could he have not loved the child? (He loved all his colonies really, just this one – who always stared at him in wonder when he told tales of fairies and unicorns – wormed his way a little deeper.) He had taught him the ways of the world, He had been a child so loved with an Empire so strong it had been _Magical_. But, Eventually, Everything he had worked for was swept away in a storm of Revolutions and independence, the little boy grew up, dismissing his tales of wyverns and covens as just that – Tales. That had hurt more than he'd like to admit.

When the blonde cherub left him, England had only cried for a few short moments, He'd cried for the memories and for the nostalgia, but not for the new nation. He'd been sad of course – but he'd understood. How could he not? When everything he and his people stood for had been given to him through the fires of bloodshed and liberty. They say it takes a Hero to raise a hero, but England still found it harder to trust nations after that.

_If they could see they'd realise his teeth were pointed when bared during battle._

His Empire shrunk, some stuck with him while others forged a new path. From those who satued he formed the commonwealth. At the centre stood his noticeably smaller empire – The UK.

He knew his brothers hated him and that was okay. (Though it had burned so badly when they greeted him with snarls and hatred.) He still had his other brothers and sisters after all – ageless beings with tiny wings and golden laughter. Of course, others couldn't see them, and so 'England the Great' became 'England the Crazy'

"Careful of him, He's a bit… Messed – in the head." And, of course, the oh so common "England, for the last time! Magic doesn't exist!"

_If they could see, they would realise his eyes glowed, luminescent, when he laughed at them._

Time marched on once again, wars and nations alike creating technology to rival his magical abilities (He still preferred the calming light of a Light spell than those beams that erupted from torches.) In 1914, the first truly great War began. England couldn't use his real, _powerful_ magic to fight off his foe – no matter how hard it was to win without it. One man and his miracle energy that he couldn't use to save his people. It was almost poetic. When 1918 rolled around, armies surrendered and bodies were cleared from the landscape, Peace was promised over Versailles.

Somewhere in his mind, he knew he'd made a mistake.

_If his vision wasn't clouded in vengeance, he would have seen a greater catastrophe rising_

Nearly 30 Years later and London – his heart- was burning. German lightning struck repeatedly at his heart and spine. He may have needed help defending his body, but never his spirit – his soul. After all, they couldn't attack something they couldn't see – didn't believe in.

Some often wondered how such a small island could be so strong.

_If they could see, they'd understand it wasn't the humans – the body but rather the magic – its soul, the Fae and various creatures._

And now, in the present, Where England is the quaint, gentlemanly country with a rich history. The isle that once ruled the world sat calmly – for once- watching as those, both old and young, attempted to discuss and solve current issues.

It was a shame they couldn't see. If they could, they'd realise there was so much more to England. They would see the wings, old but alive and fluttering, that flowed out of his back. They would see the pointed ears and the blue tinge to his nails.

If they could see, they would be able to see the countries true form and his soul – His heart (and his one greatest Weakness.)

But they couldn't see, and England had yet to figure out if it was a blessing or a curse.

So Yeah, There we go…

The Queen and Daughters refers to Boudicca and her children, who attempted to fight the Romans but ended up being slaughtered.


End file.
